Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Monaco and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Newcleus to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Slits record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pierre Henry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
Alice Coltrane,
Big Daddy Kane,
Arthur Verocai,
Rosa Yemen,
Toni Rubio,
the Swans,
Leonard Cohen,
Subhumans,
The Young Rascals,
Deakin,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ossler,
The Cowsills,
Angry Samoans,
Theoretical Girls,
Index,
Stiv Bators,
Minny Pops,
Malaria!,
Flash Fearless,
Black Sheep,
Frankie Knuckles,
Banda Bassotti,
Erasure,
Magazine,
Gang of Four,
Brothers Johnson,
Roger Hodgson,
Sparks,
Joey Negro,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Dawn Penn,
Soul II Soul,
Oblivians,
Half Japanese,
The Golliwogs,
Pharoah Sanders,
Cybotron,
The Saints,
Skaos,
Gabor Szabo,
Jerry's Kids,
Average White Band,
Lucky Dragons,
Flipper,
Dorothy Ashby,
Harry Pussy,
Ralphi Rosario,
Maleditus Sound,
F. McDonald,
Das Ding,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Alphaville,
Spoonie Gee,
The Leaves,
Nils Olav,
Sam Rivers,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Tim Buckley,
Hot Snakes,
Nico,
Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.